


Courage Of Stars

by LochAndLoad



Series: Reflecting Light [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Deleted Scenes, M/M, Main fic hasn't updated in months and this is my apology, Okami Hanzo Shimada, Peapod McHanzo Week, Read Tinted Moonlight first if you want to understand any of the chapters here, Werewolf AU, Werewolf Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-10-03 01:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17274233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LochAndLoad/pseuds/LochAndLoad
Summary: Peapod Mchanzo Week 2019, Tinted Moonlight edition.Day #3: Secret AdmirerSet between Chapter 2's prologue. From the shadows. Hanzo watches Jesse chop firewood and finds himself unable to turn away from the idea of a fling with the other wolf. If only he could actually talk to him...





	1. Oh My God They Were Roommates!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deleted scene from Chapter 8. Jesse wakes up next to Hanzo in bed and muses on this man he has yet to know fully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peeks in*
> 
> I can't apologise enough for not updating like I promised to, so here's a week of Tinted Moonlight oneshots! And we start off with a deleted scene from chapter 8, enjoy!!

The sunlight stirred Jesse awake, jolting him out of a peaceful slumber. He groaned, refusing to open his eyes out of principle, and stretched the kinks out of his back. The cracks were just as pleasant as the heavy Earthy scent surrounding him. Jesse smiled and curled up under the furs.

Someone grunted.

Jesse froze, sweat pooling in his palm. He was in the cabin; he hadn't drunk last night (though he thirsted for it something fierce), or even smoked anything from his dwindling supply. He’d gone to bed alone, after checking in with Hanzo for his territory patrol— 

Hanzo.

Slowly, Jesse cracked open an eye and let out a breath. Speak of the devil: Hanzo was fast asleep in front of him, curled up on himself and the very picture of comfort.

If he recalled correctly, this was the first time Jesse had seen Hanzo look so… relaxed.

Not that it did anything to soften the edges of the man before him, from his sharp cheekbones to the hint of fang between his lips. He could probably cut Jesse open with a snore like this, without a thought to spare. There was nothing to help him forget he was sharing a bed with a killer as dangerous as himself.

Shimada Hanzo, a man Jesse thought he knew so well. But like with most things in his life, that didn't turn out to be the case. Nine years had done a lot to the man, and Jesse was only beginning to scratch the surface of him.

It was hard to form a solid opinion of Hanzo with everything that’d happened between them recently. Keeping the truce was easier than expected, even if the awkward politeness of the Before was all but gone. The new awkward was an elephant in the room they opted to ignore by acting as if they could get along despite  _ them _ .

Try as they might to act friendly and get along as a pseudo pack, there was no forgetting the haunting past.

Jesse took another deep breath and sighed it out, careful not to rouse Hanzo any further. If only it were so easy to go back, knowing nothing of each other. They could’ve been friends.

(In another, happier life.)

He was content to have another wolf to hunt with, confide in. To know he wasn't that alone in the world.

Just his luck that his path met with the Shimada’s.

(Genji needed to know. He deserved to know his killer was here… Right?)

(He’d tell him. Soon.

Eventually.)

Jesse sighed again and his gaze roamed over Hanzo. The markings under his eyes glowed dimly in the morning light, bathing him gold and orange. His white hair lay tangled all over the pillows, and if he leaned in, Jesse could see the minute twitches of dreams in his eyelids.

(What kinds of dreams did Shimada Hanzo have?

Did his lingering ghosts haunt beyond the waking world?

Did he regret  _ enough _ ?)

Hanzo mumbled and tucked his head into his neck. His hair fell into his face and Jesse caught himself before his prosthetic brushed it away.

How much could he pretend? Could he keep the guilt at bay for much longer?

Hanzo grunted again and shuffled closer, taking up space Jesse held out openly. He couldn't help the warmth in his chest, nor how his face split with a crooked smile. Even after everything, he was still drawn to Hanzo the same as before.

Finding out who he was apparently didn't make him any less attractive. Or curb the hardening in his underwear. Damn him.

Against better judgement, Jesse relented and tucked Hanzo’s loose hair behind his ear, smiling wide at how the white strands shone like a halo. Some angel he was.

Jesse chuckled softly; he could keep pretending, for a little while more. It wouldn't hurt to act like they had a chance… 

He breathed in Hanzo’s scent of rain, sandalwood and… something he still couldn't name; let it course through his veins like forbidden fruit bringing him to life. He couldn't bare to close his eyes yet, holding himself inches away from Hanzo, just watching.

The man shifted again, unknowing to the torment and bliss he was inflicting onto Jesse.

(He had a few regrets; he wasn't going to let this be one of them.)

Then Hanzo opened his eyes and Jesse froze.

His gaze was glassy, only somewhat aware. He blinked, looking around as his eyes flashed gold. A moment later, Hachiko phased out onto the furs, shaking her own out. She yawned, glancing at Jesse.

He did nothing, staring wide-eyed at the immortal spirit he barely knew.

(God, they looked so much like Pup.)

She tilted her head at him, looked down at Hanzo, then shook her head. She trotted to the end of the bed and curled up weightless on their feet. Hanzo closed his eyes again, mumbling under his breath in Japanese. Hachiko rumbled in her chest and turned away.

Hanzo draped an arm over Jesse and folded himself into his chest, pressing into red flushed skin. Jesse would've moved him if not for the stink eye Hachiko threw. So he stayed in place, wrapped up in a Hanzo totally unknown to him. His hand hovered under the furs before settling over Hanzo’s waist, which Hanzo then mirrored, tucking an arm underneath him.

“Stay here, Jesse.” Hanzo mumbled against dry skin, nearly lost to the crook of Jesse’s neck. He hummed in response, but the archer did not stir further nor speak again. Hachiko watched, ears pointed at them as she rested.

Hanzo was dreaming, playing pretend at a scene that could never be.

Jesse rested his chin stop Hanzo’s head, humming a tune low in his throat, one he no longer knew the name of. Hanzo buried his nose against it and didn't move more.

They could keep acting, just a little while longer.

It wouldn't hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably tell why I deleted this lol And also why Hanzo was so familiar with his dream in chapter 10 ;P
> 
> (That is to say, this scene didn't fit with the Hanzo POV I set up for the chapter (8 was originally Jesse POV, so) and it also regressed the relationship too far back for my liking at a point when it was supposed to be moving forward. The fic has grown a lot since I wrote the outline that included this scene, but I thought y'all would like to see what could have been.)
> 
> Tomorrow is AU and it's my favourite prompt~
> 
> Check out my [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/LochAndLoad) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on discord!


	2. AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night of The Fight and his curse by the Okami, Hanzo is found and captured by Overwatch while Genji balances between life and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanzine work kept me super busy during the actual Peapod Week but I promised to write all the prompts and so I WILL
> 
> That being said, I also spent waaay too much time thinking about this AU and I'm invested DAMMIT

 

Bodies were scattered all over the grounds. Blood flowed freely, thick in the night air. Silence echoed all around, ringing off the shattered lights and flickering candle embers. A haunting scene for a haunting night.

Gabriel had seen it all before.

Shimada Castle was not where he expected himself to be tonight. He and Gérard were in the Tokyo base investigating Talon ties to local Yakuza, overseeing recon groups in different city districts .It was supposed to be a quiet night, no excitement or sirens blaring.

Then the Hanamura group’s medic radioed in an emergency, and Gabriel left Gérard to stand in a sea of Shimada blood.

The youngest Shimada was in critical condition under Ziegler's care. The clan elders were in literal pieces, torn apart with a vengeance by an inhuman force.

The kumichō was nowhere to be found.

Gabriel huffed and tugged down his beanie as he walked onwards. He didn't have the full resources to organise a manhunt for one of the most elusive men in Blackwatch’s files right now, but they had to act while the trail was hot and what remained of the clan was too broken to regroup into a formidable force. This could be their one and only chance to crush the Shimada clan for good.

Stepping over the spilt organs of an elder, Gabriel sent out agents to scout the castle perimeters and headed into the building proper.

Blood and sword were splattered inside as well, crimson footprints staining the wood floors and the etchings of screams carved into the very walls. If he closed his eyes, Gabriel could relive the massacre that took place here.

(The one time he wanted McCree’s jovial banter to distract him and the cowboy was stationed in Hong Kong. Fantastic.)

He journeyed further into the castle, following the bodies and discarded weapons to what could only be the clan’s meeting room. It was upturned, a flurry of chaos no longer in motion that left no corner untouched in the panic that had engulfed the clan so suddenly.

The doorway, for example, was burnt to a crisp.

Gabriel took a glove off and poked the blackened wood. Splintered ashes fell to the floor, where more scorches lay. In the shape of bootprints. He knelt down, swabbing them with a finger.

No smoke or residue. Not your traditional fire, then.

(Considering the supernatural rumours surrounding the clan Gabriel was inclined to believe it was anything at this point.)

He looked around and found the bootprints leading backwards into the grounds. A wide stride, made in no hurry. Gabriel made a note to call in a forensics team once his teams were out of the city.

The trail led to a private wing of the castle, seldom touched and covered in a putrid, burning stench. The smell of burnt skin, one he remembered well from S.E.P (parts of him still burnt; he felt them).

A shrine was set up on one side of the small room, barely disturbed with a few central pieces missing. A sword lay abandoned on the far side, shining with the blood streaking the floor and shrine.

A shining white wolf stood in the middle of it all, staring at him.

He stood frozen in the unexpected stand-off, facing off against the piercing gold. The wolf stood over him, towering even on all four paws, and all Gabriel could do was watch. The strange markings under its eyes glowed like the shrine candles, and its very presence was  **wrong** . He tried to look over the shadows of fire in its fur and memorise the way its long claws glinted, but he kept going back to the eyes; they were the only part that felt  _ real _ . Like they belonged in this world.

Worst of all, Gabriel had been in this situation before.

(It couldn't be…)

_ You’re far from home, child. Far from your pack, _ Voices in English, Japanese, Spanish, and every other language Gabriel knew rang through his head. Young and old, man and woman, no space in between. He felt himself twitch against it, trying to force it out of his mind. The wolf licked its lips, fangs and fur drenched in the blood drowning the castle grounds.

Gabriel’s hands hovered over his shotguns. The wolf’s gaze followed and he paused.

(Later, he was sure he would laugh with Jack about meeting fucking  **God** .)

_ Do you intend harm upon  _ **_my_ ** _ pack? _ The voices asked as the wolf tilted its head. Gabriel swallowed and flexed his hands, feeling the blood rush back into them.

“No,” Was all he could say. It was the truth, even if it left out the technicalities of his mission. 

The wolf was unwavering, unflinching. It only stared at him more, a blank state betraying nothing to its mortal audience.

Then it raised its head, peering down its muzzle at Gabriel.

_ Do not wander, child. You will not like what you find. _

In the blink of an eye, it was gone.

A wolf still stood.

There was nothing shining, glistening nor ethereal about the tall creature in front of him. A very physical, real being staring wide-eyed at Gabriel like a deer in the headlights.

Reacting on instinct, Gabriel held his hands up in the air and lowered himself. A scared creature, man or beast, was not someone he could pounce without a formulated plan. It was bigger than him, had torn through dozens of highly trained Yakuza members without so much as a scratch (or had that been the God?), and anybody who spent five minutes with Morrison knew that a scared creature was the most dangerous kind.

If he wanted to live through tonight, Gabriel had to be smart.

The wolf stumbled over its own paws, staggering away from the shrine. It growled at him, then keened highly enough to ache something powerful in Gabriel’s chest. Its gaze darted around, fogging over and flashing gold as it clawed over itself. As if it were fighting with itself.

(Fighting for control over the wolf? Gabriel hadn't seen it in many years, but it was possible the venom hadn't fully settled in yet.

There was a chance.)

While the beast was distracted, Gabriel Morse-tapped into his ear comm. First a request for back-up to his location, then a message to Gérard to contact Jack and Ana in Grand Mesa with a Code Mistletoe. He wouldn't know what it meant, but they would, despite the decades since its last use. He kept an eye on the writhing wolf, his free hand ready to snap to his shotgun at a second’s notice.

His comm beeped with confirmations from both ends and he sighed through his nose. Part one done, now for everything else.

He took a step backwards from the scene when the wolf turned on him, golden eyes large with pinprick pupils holding him in place. Its black lips were twisted in a frothing snarl and its hackles were raised, all aimed at him.

(Shit.)

The wolf rushed at him. Gabriel stabbed back at the eyes, at the heart.

Six shots. Eyes rolled back and the wolf collapsed at his feet. Gabriel held his breath, aiming his shotguns.

Angela lowered the tranquilliser, stumbling into the room from a side door Gabriel hadn't noticed. Her Valkyrie uniform was tousled and covered in dried blood. A hand print of it was on her face, streaked across by a pathetic attempt to scrub it off. Her eyes were red and puffy, enough that he could notice from this far, and her breathing was laden with aborted sobs and unshed tears. 

The wolf seized and jerked against the darts piercing its hide. Gabriel edged around it, shotguns pointed at its head without a tremble, slowly making his way to Angela.

“Doc, brief me.” He ordered, watching how Angela’s grip on the tranquilliser gun shook despite her face of stone. 

(That was _ Ana’s _ gun, what was Angela doing with it?)

She swallowed and dropped the gun, wiping her eyes with her stained sleeve without a care. She sniffed and expanded her Caduceus Staff from her hip, fixing Gabriel with a blank stare.

“Are you injured, sir?” He shook his head, one eye on the wolf. It didn't move. “The… patient has been extracted to the local base and is with the emergency team. I came to respond to your back-up request before following him.”

Gabriel raised a pointed eyebrow at her. “And?”

“That’s all there is, sir.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Ziegler.”

Angela sighed and leaned against her staff, her strength visibly leaving her. The circles under her eyes darkened, ageing her a dozen years in just a few seconds. She pursed her cracked lips and took a breath, not meeting Gabriel’s eye.

“It’s been a long night, Reyes. What happened here…” She waved a hand around, clenching her jaw. “Something terrible happened here.”

Footsteps in the distance, guns cocking between the crackle of radios. Codewords of his agents spoken in low whispers. Time to clean up.

Gabriel nodded and holstered a shotgun to clasp a hand over Angela’s shoulder, gripping tight. “Night’s not over yet. There’s work to be done.” 

For the first time, a small smile cracked through Angela’s dour mood and she stood straight, shaking herself out. “No rest for the wicked, ja?”

He glanced over the shrine, feeling eyes on his back and a chill in the air. Something shimmered in the edge of his vision, something he couldn't catch no matter how much he looked. He bit down the spine-crawling shiver. 

“Never.”

 

**0XX0**

 

In the ten long years he’d been in this line of work, McCree had been pulled out of missions and stations for all manner of reason. He’d heard them all, as valid as Gabe made and cleared them. Very rarely did he have a problem with last minute changes to his plans.

Being dragged out of a month-long stakeout to be something’s bodyguard in Tokyo was the stupidest reason he’d ever been given.

Gabe paid his snark no mind when they met up in the Tokyo base’s hangar, pretty much ignoring him to drone on about his new ‘mission’. As if sitting in front of a cell for weeks on end could be called that.

(God, McCree wanted to chew Gabe out so badly.)

Before meeting up with the others, Gabe took McCree to storage, handing over boxes of firearm ammunition. He didn’t explain himself the entire time, even when McCree showed him that Peacekeeper was still fully loaded and he had bullets to spare in his belt pockets. He didn't explain a goddamned thing and McCree didn't know if he had the patience for it tonight.

(Scratch that, he actually didn’t.

But if he acted on it now, it’d be the last thing he ever did. And he liked living, thank you very much.)

All he knew was that Angie had been in surgery all night; Ana and Morrison were constantly on call with the base; Gérard was running Gabe’s work; Reinhardt was apparently on route to arrive soon, and everyone who’d been working tonight were as tight-lipped as ever. It was one of Overwatch’s weirder days, to say the least.

Then he was standing in a room with an impossibly large wolf and McCree knew he understood very little.

An IV of sedatives strong enough to knock out elephants was patched into the wolf’s neck, as if the chains strapping it flat to the floor weren't enough. Gérard was kneeling next to it, holding a camera to its rolled back eye while his free hand idly ran through its thick fur.

“Is that clear enough, Ana?” He asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Ana’s voice came through a wall console. She sounded as tired as everyone felt. “Gabriel, you’re sure of what you saw?”

“You know I wouldn't jerk you around about this, Ana.” Gabe croaked, crossing his arms to watch Gérard kneel over the wolf like it was some oversized puppy and not something that scared the commanders shitless. 

“I know, but…” 

“It’s been a while, is what she’s trying to say,” Morrison’s gravely tone spat out from the console. Probably just came off from smoking through a pack; McCree could relate. “Any leads on where it came from?”

“Looking into it.” Gabe answered, scratching under his beanie. “Nothing concrete so far, but we’ll investigate the castle grounds for as long as we can. For now, I've got McCree on security detail.”

McCree cleared his throat, turning attention to him for the first time tonight. He resisted the urge to wilt or fidget under it like some greenie. Instead, he looped his thumbs through his belt and shifted on his feet. “Yeah, I was wonderin’ ‘bout that myself. Mostly, what the hell is going on?”

Gérard nodded along as he swapped out the camera for his phone, staying close to the unconscious wolf. Gabe looked to the console, as if Jack and Ana were really there, and rolled his shoulders.

“He’ll need to be fully informed if he’s to do the job to full expectations, Gabriel.” Ana said to Gérard‘s hum of agreement. Gabe made a noise, looking at McCree as he did so. He tried not to be offended at the vote of confidence, to little success. 

Jack coughed. “Actually, Gabe…”

“You can’t be serious.” Gabe glared at the console in clear annoyance. McCree couldn't help but feel the boyish validation of having the Strike Commander side with him over his best friend-maybe-husband. 

“It’s for the best. Get it over and done with, then we can go back to finding out how we got an unprecedented werewolf case in 2066.”

And that was how McCree discovered how he knew absolutely nothing at all.

 

**0XX0**

 

After hours of explaining and going through his tasks for the next few weeks, McCree was still having a hell of a time trying to wrap his head around this new side of the world he’d been abruptly introduced to. Supernatural beings hidden from the mortal world, ones Overwatch had fought during and after the Crisis to ensure humanity was kept aloft. 

Even with the mental chaos, McCree still got himself equipped - silver bullets, cursed bolts, twigs of mistletoe, wolfsbane - and prepared himself for a new schedule. He knew his skill set was better used elsewhere, but he trusted Gabe more than anyone.

“Deadeye is the only thing that can kill that wolf.”

Well, he wasn't going to argue with that. Gabe’s never steered him wrong; there’s no reason to doubt his faith.

So he sat at the cell, watching the beast through the door, on footage, however he could until Reinhardt showed up. He kept close whenever Angela, Gabe or Gérard visited, sticking to the shadows as a big brother to their work, even when he wanted nothing more than to join in on Gérard’s cajoling of Gabe.

“Come on, cowboy! Convince him!”

“Don’t play dirty, Le Fou.” Gabe leant against the cell walls, eyeing the unconscious wolf Gérard was posing with.

“As if!” Gérard scoffed, hand to chest. “All I ask is for one photo for Amélie! She’ll want to know what’s keeping her wonderful husband away from her tour.”

“Tell her you’re having an affair like the rest of us.” Gabe rolled his eyes as he walked over, plucking Gérard’s phone out of his hand.

“Thief!” Gérard gasped, clinging to the wolf’s thick neck. “Reyes is such a cruel man, bébé!”

“Need I remind you that’s a man-killing monster?” Gabe went through the phone, throwing Gérard dirty glares every other finger swipe. “A  _ top-secret  _ monster? No civilians.”  

“Gabriel, I trust Amélie with my life,” Gérard stood up away from the unmoving wolf, tailing after his friend. “Isn't that enough?”

“I like Amélie fine enough,” Gabe turned the phone off and threw it back. “Trusting her with high-level intelligence on the other hand…?”

Gérard glared at him, cursing under his breath about Gabe’s honour. McCree snickered, earning himself daggers and 50 laps for his younger self. He shrugged it off with his own smirk, ignoring the bird flipped his way. 

The wolf growled.

Peacekeeper pointed to its head. Gérard’s twin pistols are aimed. Gabe was at the console with the tranquiliser, messaging the infirmary. 

The wolf pulled against its chains, growling louder when that got it nowhere. McCree felt the sun creeping up his back, making his eye itch. Not yet, not yet. 

The chains rattled more and the wolf snarled against the muzzle bounding its jaws. It lifted its head, glaring at them with every promise of death under the moon.

McCree swallowed; he knew those eyes.

They were human.

He lowered Peacekeeper, gaze locked with the wolf’s. Those golds pierced through him, like a dying man’s last wish.

“Jesse,  _ what  _ are you doing?”

McCree holstered, ignoring Gabe’s dismay. “Don’ give him reason to fight. I don’t think he knows.”

“Jesse…”

“I got a good hunch, Jefe.”

Gabe huffed but didn't retort. He nodded to Gérard who put away his pistols and then returned the tranquilliser to the console, muttering something about ‘damned farmboys’ all the while. They watched McCree as he crept over to the wolf snarling at him.

He didn't say anything until he was knelt by its head, hands hovering over the muzzle. Gérard stepped forward but Gabe’s outstretched arm halted him. 

“Let him work.”

McCree smiled to himself and brought himself into the wolf’s line of sight, enduring the muffled roar and murderous glower thrown at him. He took off his gloves and held his palm to its nose, chuckling when the wolf scoffed at him.

“Yer thinkin’ a bit clearer now, ain’tcha?”

The wolf tried to bark, shaking its head against the restraints.

“You got something t’ say? I’ll let ya talk if you don’t lash.”

Gérard leaned over to Gabe, disbelief written all over. “Are they doing what I think they’re doing?”

“Have a fucking conversation? Don’t question it.”

McCree watched the wolf’s eyes as they darted around the room, watching everyone, studying. McCree let his gaze flicker to the IV bag; almost empty, no wonder the wolf had woken up. 

He pointed to it. “I’ll take the IV out, let you wake up some. Same deal though.”

The wolf followed his finger, eyes widening at the wires poking into him. It tried to bark again, pulling against the chains as it narrowed its eyes at McCree.

“What’s the magic word?”

The wolf looked away, pouting for all the good in the world it did. There was really no other way to explain the jutted black lip and flattened ears. It then whined and McCree smiled, reaching over the beast to gently pry the IV wires out of its neck. He unlocked the chains as he did so, quickly leaning back to avoid the shake of the wolf’s head. It rolled its shoulders as best it could, sighing contentedly. 

McCree untied the muzzle and slid it off, throwing it aside to where the wolf could see it. “That better?”

Gérard groaned. “I'm losing my mind, mon'ami.”

“Can you do it quietly?”

The wolf yawned, stretching its maw wide enough to give all three men a good look at the long fangs that tore apart trained assassins like they were nothing. It looked McCree up and down, appraising him before barking.

“Glad we can be civil ‘bout this.” McCree laughed and straightened himself up to meet the wolf’s gaze evenly. “I’ll start: Do you know what happened to ya?”

The wolf narrowed its eyes at him again but seemed to consider the question for a good moment. 

It barked in reply.

“Yeah, you ain’t exactly yourself right now. We gotta change that if we have any hope of helpin’ ya.”

The wolf snorted, rolling its eyes. A far too human expression on such a face. It didn't jostle McCree, no. It was only proving his point. 

“I help you, you help me; it’s that kinda deal. We got a lotta unanswered questions that you can help us with.”

The wolf glanced to the restraints around its legs then to Gabe and Gérard. It barked and held its head up high, eyes flashing that royal gold. Very princely indeed.

“We’ll work on yer release if you cooperate.”

Gabe cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. McCree waved a hand at him. Something to figure out later when they had what they needed. As long as it got the results they needed… 

The cell door pinged open and Angela rolled in, Valkyrie suit swapped for a first aid kit and acting like it.

“What do you need?” She asked curtly, wiping a stray hair out of her weary eyes. McCree and Gérard hissed through their teeth at the sight of her sunken cheeks and dark gaze. A responsive zombie, barely.

“Go to the call room and sleep, Ziegler.” Gabe ordered, crossing his arms and giving her a look no one dared to argue with.

She moved past him and dropped her kit at their feet. “I’ll sleep when I'm dead, Commander. I've only just gotten my patient to go back to sleep himself.”

That got everyone’s attention, even the wolf’s. It sniffed the air, whining low in its throat. 

“He was awake?” Angela nodded, rubbing her temple. “Did he tell you anything?”

“He told me enough.” She sighed and dragged her hand down her face. McCree frowned; she wasn't normally like this unless she lost a patient on the table. If the guy was alive, what could he have told her…?

She took a long breath and wrung her hands around nothing, her lips deepening into a scowl.

“Shimada Hanzo set out to murder our patient, Shimada Genji.”

Holy shit.

The wolf whined and choked, barking weakly as it stared past Angela, gaze far away. It barked the same again, two syllables - one low, one high. Wisps of amber energy floated off the strange markings around its eyes. There was a quiet echo of words in the air.

He was trying to talk.

McCree reached out to him. 

The wolf snapped back in a flash of gold, and down on McCree’s arm.

Nothing registered. McCree watched the fangs sink into his arm, drawing streams of blood over the remains of his tattoo. The wolf’s eyes were wild, inhuman.

Someone was shouting behind him.

“Don’t!”

Angela had the tranquiliser. Gérard and Gabe were aiming the pistols again. McCree swallowed, feeling sweat trail down his face. It was getting dark… 

He looked down at the wolf, staring into those unrecognisable golds. He felt his legs shake under him, drenched in his own blood. 

“Ya happy now?” His voice was stronger than he felt. He gulped, blinking away the spots in his vision. “Did you get what you wanted?”

The wolf watched him, grip as strong as ever. McCree felt his breath fasten, the cold creeping into him. The wolf looked him over again.

It let go.

McCree fell back into Angela’s arms, holding onto his arm and gasping through the pain exploding through his veins. The blood was everywhere, all over him. He couldn't feel his hand. 

Gabe was at his side, holding him still as Angela’s steady hands got the biotics into his system. He was talking, something McCree couldn't make out.

Gérard stood to the side, stroking his chin as he watched the wolf curl in on itself, its image flickering in and out of golden wisps. Its cry of pain mixed between man and beast, low and never ending.

Curiouser and curiouser.

 

**0XX0**

 

It was a fortunate thing that Reinhardt showed up not long after McCree was admitted into the infirmary for infection control. While Gabe confirmed that he wasn’t showing any traditional signs of turning, tests had to be run just to make sure he wasn't in any danger. 

Nonetheless, McCree hated being cooped up in the infirmary when he wasn't on Death’s doorstep (for once).

He spent the next day flipping between short naps, poking his bandages, and writing out his official incident report for the records. He didn't  _ have  _ to do it, since Gabe and Angela had been there as witnesses, but he’d rather drone on about dog bites than stare at the ceiling until insomnia left him alone.

Gérard had even paid him a visit after Angela cleared him from the first round of testing on his way to the Shimada’s treatment room. He was in full focus mode, rambling in French about a theory he had concerning the werewolf. McCree didn't get half of it, hopped up on all the painkillers, but when Gérard was on a roll, there was no stopping him until he had his answers. And if it solved some mysteries about the Shimada clan, then all the better.

The sleepless night was the hardest to get through. 

With walls as thin as Bible paper, McCree could hear  _ everything  _ happening on the base. Private conversations, drunken shanties, definitely an affair or two. 

Someone sneaking through the halls.

The feather-light footsteps and controlled breathing made McCree’s skin itch, made him sit up and pay real attention. 

No one else was around. The night staff were running clinical rounds in the larger ward for mission injuries, far away from the private rooms. An agent would have no reason to jump around corners, knowing that there was no hiding from the AI surveillance system.

An intruder.

Careful of his arm, McCree slipped out of his cot and grabbed a syringe of sedatives from the emergency tray. It was the best he could do with Peacekeeper locked in storage until his ‘official’ release. A scalpel would be so much better…

He cracked open his door, spying a flash of white turn the corner at the end of the hallway. 

Towards the Shimada’s room.

McCree frowned and slipped out, thankful he was barefoot. He kept a safe distance, staying in the light so the system could track him easily. If the other guy hadn't kicked off alarms yet, then his escape certainly would.

He paused at the corner, taking a deep breath before looking over. The intruder stood in front of the closed doors to Shimada’s room, gripping the handle yet not entering. In his free hand he held a dagger.

That wasn't what McCree noticed, no.

It was the wolf pelt.

The intruder was decked out in ancient samurai-esque armour, a bow and quiver strapped to his back. Over his head sat a large white wolf pelt, the fur flowing in braids over his shoulders and obscuring his face.

His left arm was glowing in strange, alien markings, and McCree felt a daunting sense of deja vu.

The intruder walked into Shimada’s room and McCree let out the breath he’d held in. He followed, crouching as he sneaked in to cover behind a cabinet. He steadied his hand holding the syringe, waiting.

The samurai pulled back the curtains around Shimada’s bed and froze, a strangled noise echoed the room. McCree knew it.

The wolf had escaped.

He glanced to the syringe in hand and considered his options. Angela’s elephant sedatives were hardly enough to ground the wolf before, this tiny drop wouldn't even register. He had no communicator on hand on account of being on medical leave, and no other way to fight off a werewolf armed with a dagger and arrows.

He had to be smart until back up made its way to them.

He’d managed to talk to the wolf before. Maybe he could try again.

McCree sighed and put down the syringe, slowly standing to his feet. Don’t spook the wolf, calm the man. 

He was at the foot of Shimada’s bed now, gripping the railings with white knuckles. McCree still couldn't see his face, but he had a feeling he knew what he would find. The wolf hadn't noticed him yet.

As he went to clear his throat, a glimmer of green formed on the bed. It floated in the air, like shattered glass yet to fall, flickering in and out of existence. 

It cried, and McCree felt his heart break.

The wolf bowed his head and responded in kind, mumbling something McCree couldn't hear. He lifted the pelt off his head, revealing a head full of impossibly white hair and a face that was too young.

He took the dagger to his head and hacked away at the hair. 

The green form evaporated away with a roar as the hair fell to the floor, along with the dagger. McCree stood still, watching the wolf sway on his feet, hands trembling and breathing uneven. Their eyes met and everything seemed to stop, until the wolf collapsed onto the floor, next to his pelt.

Without a second thought, McCree rushed over and checked for a pulse. It was there, barely, and far below 60 beats per minute. He quickly looked over Shimada’s screens; all stable, no changes.

He took the wolf into his arms, ignoring the pain shooting up his left, and looked around the dark, empty room. It was too quiet, they were alone, and he had no idea what to do.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I unfortunately don't have the time to turn this into an actual project, but y'all are free to come up with your own story and ideas for it!
> 
> If you want mine: Hanzo and Genji recover side by side, but Hanzo quickly shifts back to wolf form and devotes himself to Genji's protection as Okami (Genji does not know Okami's identity during his time with Blackwatch). McCree, Reyes and Gerard are the only ones to know the truth, but still consider Shimada Hanzo dead so they don't dissuade it. The Mchanzo would come from McCree's later turn to werewolf on That Mission.
> 
> I should hopefully have the next (shorter!) prompt out soon!
> 
> Check out my [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/LochAndLoad) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on discord!


	3. Secret Admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Chapter 2's prologue. From the shadows. Hanzo watches Jesse chop firewood and finds himself unable to turn away from the idea of a fling with the other wolf. If only he could actually talk to him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slinks in* Slowly but surely, between fanzine obligations and real life problems, I'm writing gay werewolves.
> 
> This chapter has also been added to the main fic, so go re-read Chapter 3 for the full experience!!

 

Hanzo took a deep breath of the fresh spring air the moment he stepped back into human form and released his spirits from their hold. Hachiko shook out her fur while Iwanko trotted on ahead undeterred. He quirked a small smile as their serenity flowed through him freely, letting him imagine for one blessed moment that this was his reality; all he had ever known.

A drop of blood splattered on his boot and Hanzo adjusted his hold on the red buck hauled over his shoulders. His only respite was that for today, he was a killer out of necessity and not a paycheque. 

Hachiko rubbed up against him and he scratched her ears, taking in her soothing silence as he would any other day. It was almost easy to forget why he was trekking such large prey back to the cabin, and he walked up to a stark reminder of his reason.

Jesse had only been with him a week but he could already feel the changes his presence invited in. Shamefully, it had taken Hanzo only a day to grow comfortable with being around another human being (it had been so long, he ached for the shoulder brushes to linger and to feel someone  _ alive  _ under his hands), and while they only spent time together during awkward meals, Hanzo couldn’t help but feel giddy.

Not just another person, another  _ wolf _ . One he could actually talk to without fearing for his life. After years of finding mad beasts try to take over his territory, Jesse was a refreshingly new experience. 

Hanzo didn’t know what to do with it, but he knew what he wanted. And if the lingering, half-lidded stares from the cowboy meant anything, the carnal craving was mutual. 

_ Please stop, we don’t want to know how horny you are, _ Iwanko glared from the rock he’d clambered atop.

Hachiko shook her head and barked at her brother.  _ Don’t be like that! Master, we’re very happy that you’ve found someone. _

_ If you mate with him, warn us so we don’t have to watch. _

Hanzo snorted and rolled his eyes at the lamenting spirit. As if any of them had a choice. “Jesse and I aren’t going to  _ mate _ , Iwanko. You have nothing to fear.”

_ But you want to, and that’s just as bad.  _ Iwanko jumped off the rock and disappeared into the bushes. Hachiko sighed and nuzzled his thigh. 

_ Would it be so bad to do so, Master? _

“Do what?”

Hachiko rolled her eyes this time and bumped him, walking off ahead. _ Have sex, go doggy style, blow him—  _

“Stop stop stop, I get it!” Hanzo glared at her, wishing he could rub his eyes. Her chuckles echoed in his mind and he sighed, trying to block it out.

She might have a point, though. 

Jesse would leave soon enough with a clean bill of health, eager to get back to his work (whatever that entailed; Hanzo hadn’t gotten around to asking about it) and Hanzo would let him. It would sting like absolute hell, but it had to be done. Hanzo couldn’t let Jesse be hurt by the Shimada-Gumi once they inevitably found him again.

Hanzo walked on behind his spirits, glancing around the wood for any territory markers he needed to renew. He wasn’t far from the cabin but it never hurt to be extra secure from the local wolf packs and bears. A gap between bushes gave him a clear view of the fire pit, and the man chopping wood next to it.

Hanzo stopped in his tracks to stare, taking in Jesse’s physique as it flexed in the grip of an axe. A sizeable pile of firewood surrounded him, yet he showed no signs of slowing down in his task nor fatigue. There wasn’t a drop of sweat to be found on his brow, staining his tight undershirt or well-fitting jeans. Just clear muscle throwing all force onto blocks of wood without a thought, strong enough to tear the logs in half.

To feel that for himself, to taste it… 

A toll of guilt made him look away, pushing out all fantasies before they could take root. He wasn’t the kind of man to indulge himself when the other person was mere feet away, unknowing of his peering. He was more honourable than  _ that _ .

Maybe he could take a chance to share these thoughts instead.

Hanzo took another breath and closed his eyes, repeating a calming mantra to himself to uncurl his toes.  

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze drifted back to Jesse who was between logs, leaning on the axe handle with eyes that were too far away. Too haunted.

Hanzo knew that look too well from years of seeing it reflected in the mirror. Jesse was an enigma to him, but he couldn’t help the curiosity that prodded at him to learn more about the werewolf gunslinger.

 

**0XX0**

 

 

The buck was hung from a low branch by the fire pit and Hanzo got to quick work skinning it, never minding the full bleeding process (a little extra juice was nothing their wolf stomachs couldn’t handle). Hachiko and Iwanko slinked back into his skin when Jesse appraoched to inspect the kill.

He kept his distance (though not enough that Hanzo couldn’t appreciate the way his undershirt clung to his thick body), looking the carcass up and down instead of meeting Hanzo’s eye. He tried to be offended but couldn’t on account of being unable to even say ‘hello’.

The silence dragged on and Hanzo suppressed his urge to fidget. 

_ If you don’t say something,  _ **I** _ will _ .

_ Don’t you dare, brother! _

“So, uh, got yerself a snack there?” Jesse stuck his thumbs through his (ridiculous, gaudy acronym) belt loops and shifted on his feet, meeting his gaze at last. His brown eyes shown with a mirth that made Hanzo jealous, and his cheeks reddened as Hanzo stared.

He cut his chuckle short and fixed his expression. It wouldn’t do his few scraps of pride any good to let anything slip now.

_ I thought you wanted to mate with him! _

_ Nooooo, don’t encourage him! _

_ ‘Hush, you two.’  _ “It’s dinner. For tonight.” Hanzo almost flinched. So much for trying to be suave.

Jesse smiled, strained and uneasy but a smile for  _ him  _ nonetheless. When was the last time someone really smiled at him?

_ Brother _ .

“Glad t’ see I ain’t the only one here who likes big meat.” Jesse sidled closer, nonplussed yet jittering down to his toes.

Then he winked.

_ Uh oh, emergency. _

_ I’ve got this. _

Hanzo nodded, his face burning a fierce red, and briskly walked off, cursing to himself the whole way.

By the time Iwanko got him into the cabin, Hanzo knew he had to save grace. A look out of the window told him dusk would arrive shortly, which Jesse would watch while smoking. He had some sake left over from his last supply run, a perfect olive branch to extend for that embarrassing display and something to full his nerves enough to have an actual conversation over dinner.

Yes, it was perfect, and may just lead to something great for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next fic update I plan to get to is the mermaid AU and then it's full throttle on more werewolf content y'all!! Leave a comment, I live off the validation <3
> 
> I'm also planning on re-opening my Patreon page and if you're interested in me having an actual upload schedule for fics, be sure to look out for it! ;P
> 
> Check out my [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/LochAndLoad) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) for extra art, AUs and ramblings from yours truly. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on discord!


End file.
